Rekindle
by Thelchtereia
Summary: The nights to watch out for were the ones where he didn't come home at all. There were no phone calls, no text-messaged excuses, just a lack of his presence at the dark mahogany dinner table. / Can be considered a continuation of my story Betrayal.


The heated days of summer weighed down on me like a barbell being balanced on my shoulders. With each passing day he placed another weight onto the slim end until I felt I would break. Sometimes it was only a five-pound ring, slid on with a smile and a pat on my shoulder. Those were the days he waved me off like an over-protective parent, with a snide joking comment in front of our friends, and showed up late to dinner when he knew it was always on the table at seven o'clock sharp.

Those were the best days. I came to treasure them, because with him there was no in-between. It was either a five-pound weight or fifty, and he traded between them without warning, his moods flitting from one to the next without a second thought for anyone but himself.

The nights to watch out for were the ones where he didn't come home at all. There were no phone calls, no text-messaged excuses, just a lack of his presence at the dark mahogany dinner table we had bought together at one of those over-priced boutiques downtown. He had protested until I pointed out that the table had no corners to leave bruises at his hips, whispered promises into his ear of all the things I would be tempted to do to him each night as I watched him sitting across from me.

I didn't need an excuse, didn't need the table to remind me of how much I wanted him, and he knew it. To my surprise he didn't call me out on it. He just pressed himself back against me, despite how our cotton shirts were clinging to us both like second skins even in the dry air the boutique's cooling system was trying so desperately to manage. He made me promise. I didn't hesitate for a second.

For a while it worked, and everything was perfect. He came home each night right on time, suffered through my experimental gourmet dinners, and we made love against the dinner table before the dishes were even cleared. Once, before we even ate, but even I couldn't complain about the unevenly heated meal he had rewarmed in the microwave while I cleaned up the mess.

The next night he didn't show up at all, the first fifty-pound weight pressing down on me. He never told me where he went. He didn't have to. The cloying scent of nicotine sunk into his clothes and hair, into his pores. Sometimes there was a less familiar, thicker scent of smoke on him; a musky scent. I didn't ask. I skipped class that day, took him back to our room and made love to him so slowly he begged me not to let it end.

It added up quick. Five, fifty-five, sixty, one-hundred-ten. After two-hundred-fifty I couldn't take it anymore. I followed him from his last class of the day, as far as the train station. It was there I caught him by the arm, before he could slip through my fingers onto the tightly packed rush hour train. I held my breath until the train pulled away from the platform, hardly believing his thin wrist was still there within my grasp.

"Come home with me." I whispered into his ear, reaching up to push soft locks of vibrant red away from his face. He wouldn't look up at me.

"Let me go." His voice lacked its usual fervor, sounded strangely defeated.

I tugged him in close, pulled him against my chest, and then realized he was shaking. It didn't matter who was watching. He was there against me, the scent of his too-sweet apricot shampoo strong in my nose and untainted by smoke, and sweat, and sex.

"I love you." I said quietly against the top of his head, dark cherry red strands sticking to my damp lips.

He said nothing.

"Come home with me." I repeated.

"I'm scared." He was still shaking, his voice thick with unshed tears.

"I know." I said just as quietly. He had every right to be.

"I love you, too, Yuushi."

I reached up to take his chin in one hand, coaxed him to tip back his head. I never could resist those lips. They were parted slightly, his tongue darting out to wet them; taunting me.

"I know."

Our lips met, so softly it was like a whisper against my skin.

One by one the weights slid off of that barbell across my shoulders, left my legs weak and shaking without the weight of that burden holding me down. The empty pole hit the ground with a deafening clang.

When I tugged at his hand he followed, and I knew I wouldn't be spending any more nights alone.


End file.
